nietchze_fling pete my hiers will be the nihilists, not my children nor my descendants, but my heirs. i will never meet them, nor will they know my name. the last men will crumble, and kaplan will be their hero. the coming anarchy is surely coming. and the last men won't be able to survive it. if we aren't creative we don't exist, embrace the metamorphoses and make the flux your bed at night, never in the same spot twice. my heirs will be the nihilists. with my pen i spread their prodigy. now, what is strength to you? 040810 ... zeke meet the thrust of time with an arrow and drive molten light through the doors of mediocrity shame, that motivator of the weak, is banished and sunken in the swamps of triumph last is the ever rising fury quenched and last a dove rises white and last do the scavengers come home replete of the leavings of war and hatred and stops 040810 ... (z) (my middle name is frederick after neitchze) 040813 ... .. to think how effete and ineffectual he would've seemed at first glance. 040813 ... pete the sky bled hope, and the earth thundered into the night where the river flew so calmly up on the pinnacle they sat, huddled, afraid of the fall that lay ahead the wind breathed a life into a few and the abyss shook again tiamat woke and through the clouds she spoke: 'children of my love's blood it has been too long, come back into my embrace' and with that the last pinnace began to shake and the last men fell into the pit but upon the weak pillar stood a few, they saw were the river flew and changed again and again calling out their living shout: 'if we are not creative, we shall not live; if we are not alive, we shall not create!' 040817 what's it to you? who go blather from